


Vodka and Trust

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s never a good thing when Matt and Foggy are at odds with each other. There’s a wedge between them now, and neither is sure how to find a way back to the friendship they had and both want back. (Continuation of shyday's story "Beer and Blood".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vodka and Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyday/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Beer and Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145727) by [shyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyday/pseuds/shyday). 



> **Author's Note:** This story was sparked by the wonderful, heart-breaking story [“Beer and Blood”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4145727) by shyday, and is actually a continuation of it. I just couldn’t bear leaving Matt and Foggy hanging like that, so this is how I imagine the story to continue. I hope I did it a tiny bit of justice. I’m posting this with permission from shyday (thank you!).  
>  As my story refers to what happened in shyday’s story, it’s highly recommended that you read it before you read this one. If you choose not to, the quick ‘n dirty version of “Beer and Blood” is that Matt stumbles into Foggy’s apartment one night after a number of explosions went off in the city. He’s badly injured, including a broken wrist, but still insists on going back out there to protect the city. With the state Matt is in, Foggy knows he needs to stop him. In a desperate, last-measure attempt, Foggy drugs an ignorant Matt with a sedative to prevent him from leaving. When Matt wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t take kindly to the deceit and walks out on an apologetic Foggy with a grudge that truly puts their friendship to the test.  
> The original prompt that shyday's story was written for [can be found here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2950350).  
> 
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

They haven’t talked in weeks. Not really. Not like best friends should.

Ever since Foggy found out about Matt’s nightly alter ego, things between them have been testy. Hesitant. The metaphorical eggshells line most of the paths they walk now.

In the aftermath of that night, both Matt and Foggy had told Karen that things would be okay, and for a while they were, but then Foggy drugged Matt against his will in a desperate attempt to keep him from doing more damage to his already battered body, and things fell apart. Again.

They give their best when they’re in the office, mostly for Karen’s sake. It still sucks when the friction between them bleeds over to her, and they both hate it. So they keep up the pretense, smile politely at each other, wrap things in a civil demeanor that betrays their actual feelings.

And of course, she still notices. But it’s the best they can do under the circumstances.

Truth be told, Matt still feels deceived. He never thought he’d be the kind of person to hold long grudges, but he just can’t seem to forgive Foggy. Matt tries to ignore the flinches when Foggy accidentally runs into him, or the awkward stutters when he’s not prepared for another surprise encounter. Foggy tries, he really does, but it’s just...

Foggy doesn’t get it, maybe doesn’t _want_ to get it. He’s not the one saving countless people, saving lives, saving the city. He’s not the one who hears the screams and moans and sobs of the people in agony. He’s not the one who hears a siren and instinctively wonders if this could have been someone he might have saved if he’d been there.

So Foggy gave him a strong sedative that might have cost several people their lives—something that Matt, that _Daredevil_ could have prevented. Best friends don’t drug people against their will. Even if it may be in their best interest.

But today—today there’s a shift in… something. Matt isn’t sure what, he’s tried to deny it, but he can practically feel the frustration radiating off of Foggy, even from two offices over. He doubts it has to do with him, or at least not in a blatant, non-subliminal kind of way. There’s something bigger today, something that dropped a 16-ton weight on Foggy’s shoulder on top of everything.

It’s not that Matt is actively trying to eavesdrop, but sometimes he just can’t help himself. Foggy’s been doing a lot of angry muttering, the occasional murmur of a swear word. He’s thrown piles of documents from one end of the desk to the other, some to the floor. He’s uttered choice words at the computer screen. He even snapped at Karen for no discernible reason. Karen left for the day shortly after that.

It’s already after hours when there’s the phone call Foggy receives that Matt is giving his best to ignore. Even though he doesn’t make out the actual conversation, he still gets the gist of it from Foggy’s tone. It’s not good news. He can feel Foggy’s heartbeat increase in frequency, a kind of anxious, uneasy pounding that speaks of worry and dismay. And there’s just something inside of Matt that wants to push away all the ugliness between them lately.

He knows Foggy has apologized a hundred times over, in many shapes and sizes, and even though a part of him knows it’s a shitty thing to do to the one person who basically stuck with you through college in a way that you never expected, Matt just can’t bring himself to accept it. Not just yet, but he thinks maybe he’s getting there.

It’s the loud noise that startles him. It sounds like objects are flying through Foggy’s office, accompanied by a muffled scream of frustration and emotional anguish. Matt has heard and quelled that scream inside of his own self many times. Then things fall silent, and Matt sits up stiffly in his chair, frozen for a moment. He strains to listen despite his better judgment, and is it just his imagination, or can he hear sniffling?

There’s the smallest of lumps forming in his stomach, and his brows knit in concern. He gets up from his chair. It’s more clumsy than usual because the cracked ribs don’t really like any kind of physical activity. To add to that, the cast on his left lower arm gets in the way, hampering most of his routine tasks—a lingering physical reminder of that night he walked out on Foggy, that night that destroyed something vital.

He slowly approaches Foggy’s office, and hesitates in front of the closed door, then lightly raps on it. “Foggy?”

“Go away,” he hears a hostile voice from inside. Even through the closed door, there’s something heavy and ugly laced in it.

Matt simply ignores the command and turns the handle. He stops in the open door.

Foggy’s tone is no less acerbic. “Which part of ‘go away’ did you not understand?”

“I know something happened,” Matt just states in a soft voice, because it seems wrong to pretend it isn’t the reason he’s standing here.

“Oh, and you suddenly seem to care about that, huh?”

It stings, and Matt knows he deserves it. He’s always cared, but there are things he cares about more at times. He edges closer and sits down uninvited in the chair opposite Foggy’s desk. “Yes,” he simply states.

Foggy lets his elbows drop to the desk to lower his face into his propped up hands. He draws in a long breath that has a tremor to it when he lets it out. His voice seems to hover around the breaking point when he says, “Truth is, I could really use a friend right about now.”

“I’m here if you wanna talk.”

It hangs in the air, and Foggy is shaking his head ever so slightly. Matt concentrates on Foggy’s face, and he’s fairly sure he can smell a hint of fresh tears. There’s a soft sniffle, and Foggy’s voice is thick with emotion. “You know what? I don’t think I can do this right now.”

He gets up from the chair and haphazardly starts to stuff things into his shoulder bag with the clear intent to run.

Matt sits and waits, unsure what to do. He’s used to open hostility from the thugs he chases every other night, but coming from Foggy, it rings hollow and sour.

Foggy grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, and Matt gets up because he realizes just sitting there is gonna do jack shit.

Foggy turns to him, his tone icy. “Really. Don’t bother.”

“Foggy,” Matt calls after him, but Foggy is already by their entrance door.

+-+-+-+-+

It isn’t hard for Matt to find Foggy. Even without the heightened senses, it’s fairly obvious that Foggy would be trying to drown his sorrows with the help of the eel, or whatever other high proof liquor Josie’s bar shelf would have to offer.

He’s given Foggy half an hour, mainly because he figures that perhaps a small amount of inebriation on Foggy’s part could play in his favor.

Entering Josie’s, he finds the bar and stands at a safe distance to where Foggy is staring at the empty glass in front of him. The unmistakable aroma tells Matt vodka was Foggy’s first choice tonight. Folding up his cane with 1 ½ hands isn’t easy, but Matt hopes it gives them both time to establish a safety zone between them.

Foggy turns his head towards Matt and snarls, “You’re one obstinate son of a bitch, Murdock, you know that?”

He gestures at the stool next to Foggy. “Can I sit?”

Foggy shrugs. “You didn’t need to ask before.”

“I will go if you want me to, but I really wish I didn’t have to.”

Foggy makes a vague gesture that indicates he’s free to stay. “Grab a vodka or five, knock yourself out.”

“I’m thinking maybe we should stay sober for this one.”

“Little late for that.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Quite frankly, I’m not sure I’m ready for a whole lot of conversation around topics that require a certain level of profoundness and honesty.”

Matt gives him a quick nod. “Then I’ll just sit and drink with you. And if you change your mind…”

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs, indicating to the bartender she should refill his glass and pour one for Matt as well.

The clear liquid burns down Matt’s throat, and the glass makes a wooden clanking sound as he places it back on the counter. He pushes is back and forth across the smooth surface in small movements, analyzing the different levels of sound that the materials rubbing against each other make. Foggy wordlessly downs another glass in parallel.

“You know,” Matt says in a low voice. “I really hate this.”

“What? Drinking cheap vodka with the guy who used to be your best friend?”

“Yeah. The ‘used-to’ part. This. Between us. I hate it.”

“You and me both, man.”

“Can we not get past that, Foggy?”

Foggy draws his face into an unattractive grimace and shrugs. “I’ve apologized, like, a million times. I’m not sure what else you want me to say to make this go away.”

“Yeah, and I think that’s the problem. It won’t go away. Because we both know I can’t change who I am. What I do.”

Foggy rubs his finger along the rim of his glass, staring into the nothingness beyond it. “You know, I thought I had—I don’t know—figured I was okay with the whole... vigilante thing that you do. And I kinda was. Until you showed up in my living room, half-dead, barely able to stand on your own two feet, and _then_ insisting you go back out there which would most certainly have gotten you killed.

“I mean, look at you.” He points at Matt’s arm. “Your bones are still mending, and I bet you’re already pining for the moment that thing comes off and you can go crime fighting again.”

Matt says nothing at first, because he can’t refute it, and he doesn’t want to lie to Foggy anymore. “It’s not as simple as that, and you know it.”

“No,” Foggy says bitterly, “No, it’s not. And you know what else isn’t as simple? The fact that it’s not just you anymore. But I think that’s the fact that you keep conveniently forgetting. Or ignoring. Tell me which one it is.”

“Foggy...”

“Yeah. Foggy. That’s me.” He points at himself. “The guy who used to think he knew who Matt Murdock was. The guy who thought the Matt Murdock he knew would never deliberately put his friends’ lives at risk, would never intentionally and repeatedly throw himself into situations that not only would most certainly get him killed, but could also put his friends in jail. Or worse. I still don’t get how you sleep at night.”

Matt stays quiet, feels his chin quivering just a bit. He bites his lower lip before he speaks, and his voice is low and honest. “Maybe I don’t.”

“Yeah, and a part of me thinks you may actually deserve that.”

It’s another low blow, but maybe they need to finally clear the air. He desperately searches for something to say that could explain his motivations to Foggy, but he’s coming up empty. He’s tried so many times, and always failed.

“Is that why you sedated me? To protect yourself?”

Foggy lets out a huffy breath through his nose. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

Matt can hear Foggy’s heart speeding up. Shit, this was the exact wrong thing to say.

Foggy’s voice is raised, angry now. “No. Jesus, Matt. I was worried! For you! I was honest-to-God afraid you would not come out alive if you went back out there that night. The state you were in, no human being should ever have to endure that.

“I knew. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you if I tried, and the drugs... That was the only thing I could think of. I knew you’d be mad. As soon as I’d done it, I knew you’d hate me for it.”

“And you still did it.”

Foggy is quiet for a long moment, then says just above a whisper. “You’re my best friend. Do you know what it’d do to me if I lost you?”

Tears spring to Matt’s eyes, because he hadn’t expected this. They’re too fast, too vehement to blink them back, and he quickly wipes at his eyes, knowing full well Foggy would have seen it. He suddenly feels ashamed, because he’s never really known what it meant to have a bond with someone so strong that it’d create a void that would never be filled if that person was suddenly gone.

Yes, of course he’d been devastated when his father died. But he’d been just a kid, hadn’t known what to do with those feelings. The nuns at the orphanage didn’t exactly exude a lot of loving, and Stick... Stick didn’t want to be what Matt was so desperately looking for. So he’d just resorted to arranging himself around the fact that it was just him. Him swimming through a sea of overwhelming sensations he was trying so desperately to make a home in.

That was all he’d known until freshman year of undergrad. And then came Foggy, and for the first time in his life, he’d known what it meant to have a person who was... there. No matter what. Through the good _and_ the bad. Especially the bad.

And he’d never quite gotten to the point where it felt right to be completely honest with Foggy about his abilities. Sure, he’d wanted to. Many times. But then Foggy would crack a joke or make a dumb comment to lighten the mood, and the moment was gone as quickly as it had presented.

And now here was Foggy, with his big heart and his unconditional love and trust, and Matt had betrayed that. For years. And maybe there was just something wrong with him, because why is it that it had never once entered his mind until now what it’d do to Foggy if he lost Matt?

“I’m not good at this,” Matt says weakly. “I don’t know how... I don’t know how to have good people in my life.”

“Bullshit,” Foggy interjects.

“No, hear me out. You and me, we’re... we come from different worlds. You have your parents and your family, and your whole life, you’ve just been surrounded by happiness and caring and love. Me, I’ve never had that. Sure, I had my dad, but I think he didn’t really know how to raise a boy by himself. Just went with what he thought was best, spent his feelings on the punching bag or the next opponent he’d fight. And then one night, he was gone too.

“At the orphanage, we got what we needed, we were cared for, but a display of emotions wasn’t exactly encouraged, you know? That sounds terrible, and it really wasn’t so bad, but it’s just... it’s the world I know, the world I’m drawn to. And I don’t know how to explain that to you.”

“So you’ve never had... anyone?”

“Anyone, as in...?”

“I don’t know. Who would give you a hug, or... patch up your scraped knee, or read a book to you when you were sick?”

“Well, the nuns did that.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same. And I’m betting they didn’t exactly go about it in any kind of loving, motherly way.”

“I was a kid, Foggy. I don’t think I knew what I was missing. Until Stick came around.”

“The Martial Artsy blind dude?”

Matt gives him a wan smile. “I wanted him to be a father. So badly. And for a while I was convinced he could be. But when he became aware of it, he bailed faster than I could say ‘don’t go’. And then it was back to Matt Murdock against the rest of the world.”

Foggy stays quiet, because maybe he’s suspected, but never really known just how bleak Matt’s childhood was. Matt lets out a little, sarcastic chuckle. “You know, I’m sure a shrink would have some fancy name for it, but the truth is, I’ve never been very good at trusting people other than myself.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Foggy whispers.

“And then I trusted you. And you drugged me.”

“And I will never, _ever_ do that again. I promise you, Matt. But I just wish that...”

He trails off, and Matt asks after a long moment, “That what?”

Foggy shrugs. “I don’t know. That it didn’t have to be that way? That you didn’t think you couldn’t trust me.”

“You know what they say. Once burned...”

Foggy nods slowly in confirmation. “So where do we go from here?”

“We could start with what had you so upset that you threw inanimate objects around your office.”

“No, before we go there, there’s something else I think we need to discuss. Not only are you notoriously bad at trusting people, you’re also notoriously bad at asking for help. And that’s part of this whole… wobbly pile of a mess.

“Because, Matt, you _need_ to ask for help sometimes. Especially when you’re, like, bleeding to death or, or, I don’t know, have twenty-seven gashes across your skin and broken ribs and a busted wrist swollen to twice its size, and think you need to single-handedly save the world despite your body screaming ‘enough already!’ That’s what you have me for. Or Claire. Or Karen. We’ll always be there, or at least _I’ll_ always be there.”

“I know,” Matt says meekly.

“And it’s not just that. It’s also that you should start to listen to what we actually have to say, okay?”

Yeah, that’s the part that Matt struggles with the most. “I can’t promise you that, but I can try.”

Foggy nods once. “Okay. We can go with that.”

He downs the last remnants of his vodka, hissing a little at the sharp taste of it. Matt can hear his breath hitching in Foggy’s chest, his heartbeat becoming more irregular before he says in a dejected voice, “That other thing? It’s my dad. They diagnosed stage 4 prostate cancer, metastases already all over the place. They’re giving him three months.”

There’s a lump in Matt’s throat at the news. “I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“Yeah,” he just sighs. “Me too.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Foggy lets out a short, cynical laugh. “Yeah. Cure cancer.”

It’s not funny, Matt knows that. There’s no humor in his voice when he says, “Not in either of my job descriptions, I’m afraid.”

Foggy clanks down his glass on the counter, and it has a certain finality to it. “I’m gonna take a few days, drive out there to see my parents.”

“Yes, of course. Do you want me to come with you?”

Foggy’s head turns in surprise that he hides quickly. “Thanks, but, uh… I’ll be okay. Besides, we actually _do_ have clients now. There’s a trial coming up, if I’m not completely mistaken.”

Those things seem so insignificant at the moment, but Matt supposes Foggy is right. The ever turning circle of life stops for no one. Not for incurable diseases or incapacitated vigilante lawyers.

Foggy turns to him and faces him. “Just… while I’m gone, can you promise me not to get killed?”

The wrist cast makes a knocking sound as Matt taps it on the raised wooden ridge at the edge of the bar. “Little difficult with this still on.”

“Yeah, but that’s gonna come off soon, right?”

“I’m hoping next week.”

“You know, I’m just sayin’. Don’t want you bleeding out on my living room floor while I’m away. Go see Claire if you have to. Or better yet, call an ambulance. Discard the mask somewhere and say you were at a costume party or something. There’s gotta be a way to get away with that.”

Matt’s mouth forms a small smile. “You know, it’s not like I’m hell-bent on getting myself killed, every time I put on the mask.”

“Really? Could‘ve fooled me.”

“Foggy, I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just... I still can’t wrap my head around it. It’s like your brain chemistry is broken, or something. Those chemicals, they really did a number on you. Do you actually know what it was? I mean, you totally should have sued the crap out of them. Or the city. Or whoever is responsible. Or we could market that shit, make tons of money.”

“No, I don’t know what it was. And believe me, being blind is no walk in the park. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know. Just… leave it alone, okay, Foggy?”

He raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Okay. Sorry.”

They both fall silent, because finally, amazingly, the important things have been said. Matt pinches the bridge of his nose with his right hand. There’s a headache brooding there he’s been trying to ignore for the better part of the afternoon, and the alcohol isn’t helping.

It’s been a long day. A long month. A _lonely_ month. The anger and betrayal that was always simmering beneath the surface had blinded him to any kind of empathy before, but it’s there now. He can only imagine what it must have been like for Foggy, waiting for a sign of forgiveness, of concession.

Even without his eyesight, he can feel Foggy’s slumped shoulders, his body language speaking volumes of the hardships past, present, and future. He wants to rest his hand on Foggy’s shoulder to show him just how much he _does_ care, wants to draw him into a much needed hug. But he can’t. Not yet.

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” he says after a long pause. “Even though it didn’t seem like it the last few weeks, I’m here if you need me, okay?”

Foggy gives him a weak smile. His voice is quiet, un-Foggy-like, filled with emotion. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You can call any time.”

“Yeah, except at night, right?”

“Even then. Call the burner. I’ll be there as best as I can. The city’s important, but so are you.”

Foggy nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay. I’ll take that. And just one more time for the record. I’m sorry about drugging you. I really, truly am.”

Matt’s mouth draws into a genuine, benevolent smile. “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I hit you. The anger isn’t always easy to rein in.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.”

After settling their tab, Matt can feel a light touch to his upper arm as they leave the bar. It’s brief and tentative, and barely more than the brush of a hand, but it’s something. Reconciliation is tangible, and the relief that washes over him makes his eyes prickle with a hint of tears.

It feels good to be able to smile—truly smile—again. To have someone by his side, someone to talk to, to not dread going to work the next day.

He hopes it’ll stay that way for a long time. With any luck, forever.


End file.
